


Red

by TurboTavia



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Letters, Loss, Love Letters, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 05:49:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurboTavia/pseuds/TurboTavia
Summary: After the death of the fabled Dutch van der Linde, a team of government workers ransacked his hideout, finding amongst many treasured belongings a letter, the ink still wet.





	Red

Dearest,

There’s never been a greater woman in my eyes; one who moves with such finesse, with the elegance of an exotic bird or in the way a poet may form his words. No woman before has rendered me speechless by her presence, by the way her red hair shifts or the way her azure eyes meet my own and calm my heart. I would compare her beauty alone to that of a siren, if a siren were the most beautiful being on our Earth, and her heart to that of a queen of a nation, beloved by many and envied by all.

Not a day has passed where I have not missed the comforting gaze she blessed me with in the morning and at night, the way her subtle lips formed the words “I love you” and warmed me like an eternal fire without even a touch of skin. Like a boy I was giddy and young, and so very much in love. Oh, how I loved you.

Miss, how you tormented me. You played me like a harp, fingers so softly plucking the strings of my heart and striking a chord so melodious I heard it echo in my dreams for years to come. And even today I hear it, though how faint the tune has become, I wish only for to hear it again, to watch your dainty fingers do their work, whether it be music or slipping a thread through a needle.

I only bear the colour for which you expressed such a desire. “How well the red goes with your hair” you told me, presenting to me a garment I felt no longer worthy to remove from my breast. And here I sit at this very moment, relishing under its touch and knowing that it was your hand that crafted it so well to fit me.

Do you miss me, my dear?

The years have changed me, and though the days before were brighter, I fear I was never good enough. Never good enough to hold you, to caress your soft cheek or to guide you in dance when you yourself were so very much the better dancer. I have lost my flair, it would seem, my dear. They no longer respect me in the way that they did when I knew you and our boots were dusty from the dry riverbed we called home.

I realize now how wrong I was. How years ago it was not those I despised to blame, but only was the blame of myself for the way things were. I am sorry, miss, for having lost you not to time but to the devastation of a crossfire, within which your kind self had found no place. For without the mistakes of mine own hand, I would be blessed enough to be losing myself once again in your eyes, if you would grant me the permission to.

As I write these words I feel a chill cross my bones and freeze my soul – if I had one to begin with – for I know that my time is near, and while you have waited all these years for me to join you, I fear I am not worthy to be lain at your side. The smoldering still fills my nostrils, and I am forever shadowed by the mistakes I made, the loss I gained for nothing more than a feud, than for money.

I must say farewell, my dear. He is coming now, and my time draws near. Please take care of yourself, as I wish I had been able to do for a lifetime and more. I am afraid, as I have often been before, but it’s different this time because your hand is not here to steady my shaking. These silver-toed boots were not worth a lifetime of regret.

I shall miss you even after I am gone, Annabelle. I ask not for forgiveness, but instead that you find solace in knowing that I am put to rest by a man much greater than myself and in a way I am far below worth receiving.

Farewell.

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for writing this was the song Red by Daniel Lanois. I have a bit of a headcanon that the song was written by Dutch to represent Annabelle and the life they lived together before she was killed in a fire set by Colm. I'd be curious to go further into detail about this, maybe by writing a short story of the couple and the young van der Linde gang from back in the day to see how well it fits together.  
For now, I hope you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading!


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